


Toothsome

by Anonymous



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Blood, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Non-Consensual Kissing, Other, Pennywise (IT) is His Own Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 19:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20980871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After the confrontation in the Neibolt house Pennywise is eager to terrorize the brats that had hurt It, and there is one in particular that It wants to torment above all others.It means to sink its teeth into Bill's flesh. That's not what happens.A different hunger sparks to life.





	Toothsome

The little group of morsels has broken up after their intrusion in the Neibolt house and have started venturing out without the safety of a larger crowd—not that higher numbers had ever meant anything to It other than a chance to gorge itself even more—and, in the case of most, seem to be attempting to forget the terror that they had faced altogether. 

It could feast upon them easily, but it wants more than to just make a simple meal out of them, now. It wants them to suffer through dread that they had never even contemplated before. They had hurt it, back in Neibolt, and It will haunt and stalk and terrorize them more than any other prey.

And the one it is most eager to terrorize is the leader of the group. The keystone. The spear-tip. The one who had tried to valiantly claim that It was not real, even as It was in the midst of terrorizing him and his little friends.

It could have eaten the lone, sobbing child in front of it, but It had felt compelled to focus its attention on _him_ in that moment. The persistent whelp who even now, isolated as he was, was full of enough anger and grief and grim determination that everything else was buried deep underneath.

It wants to unearth his fear, wants to savor it, wants to draw it out and make it last far longer than it has ever bothered to before. Perhaps it will not kill and devour him right away, perhaps it will only take a mouthful and let him live on in dread, knowing that eventually it would return for more. 

The idea is cruelly amusing and it salivates at the thought of making this meal, somehow more significant than any other, last until the time to sleep comes again.

Making itself appear as an ordinary man is as easy as appearing as a waking nightmare, and it uses the disguise to watch Bill closely for the length of almost an entire day. The boy rides his bike alone, and stares at maps alone, and scribbles things down in a notebook alone.

He goes to the library alone, too, and skims through the small section of books on folklore and the supernatural as if one of them might hold the key to taking It down for good.

As if a predator like It could ever be defeated by that which it had chosen to be prey.

Bill leaves the library as dusk begins to fall, no secret weapons or tactics richer. Pennywise, growing bored, does what it does best.

It can smell the spike in terror as its long fingers wrap tightly around one thin wrist and can feel the pulse jump as the human’s fight or flight response floods him with adrenalin. It presses the palm of its other hand over the opening mouth before screams can alert any lingering residents to a child’s distress. It forces Bill back, back, back, into the growing shadows cast by the building until his struggling form is held tightly against its chest, and it can feel the drool begin to flood its mouth as Bill fights to get away like a rabbit caught in a snare. The helpless squirming makes it chuckle, and It wants—

There’s a flash of pain, nothing compared to what it had felt in Neibolt, but enough that Its thoughts of feasting are put on hold.

Bill has sunk his teeth into the palm of Its hand hard enough to draw blood, hard enough that It can feel the flesh and muscle begin to part from the pressure, hard enough that, if not stopped, Bill will have of mouthful of It in his mouth, instead of the other way around.

There’s something… _Interesting_ about that possibility. Something darkly humorous about a snack that thinks to bite back. 

No one has dared—no one has been brave enough—to tear into its flesh with their few, unsharpened teeth before. 

Fight or flight.

Pennywise has become used to its targets choosing flight. It will have to remember that Bill is not like its other quarry.

The keystone, the tip of the spear, the one who could inspire others to choose ‘fight’ as well. 

“If you tear off a chuck of my hand I’ll make you swallow it whole, Billy,” Pennywise softly promises into an ear. The child in its grasp shudders in revulsion, and then the hold of his teeth loosens.

It turns and pins him to the rough brick of the library’s exterior, one hand trapping both of the boy’s wrists to the wall above his head, the split flesh of the other pressing a red collar against his throat, exerting just enough force to make him have to fight to catch his breath.

Humans were always driven into such a delightful panic when they felt like they couldn’t breathe.

It stares down at the face of the boy that it wants to fill with unholy terror, and its eyes are drawn to the slick red that lines his mouth.

Something inside of it twinges with a strange gratification, not entirely dissimilar to the feeling it gets when its appetite has been sated.

“I kn-kn-know that it’s y-yuh-you,” Bill says, red lips smacking together before they pull back into a defiant sneer which showcases how his pearly white teeth have been coated with blood. “D-dr-drop the m-mask.”

Can he taste the blood, It wonders distantly, did it fill up his mouth, did he swallow any?

Did he enjoy it?

In the span of one blink Pennywise is in his favored form again. The gloved hand around Bill’s throat no longer stings, but the blood that had been drawn doesn’t disappear from where it’s been smeared over Bill’s lips. Such a gorgeous colour coating such delectable skin, Pennywise could trace a clawed finger through the mess and paint a mimic of its own smile on Bill’s face. 

Saliva spills over its bottom lip for more reasons than just the idea of making this stupidly brave boy scream in fear. 

“Little buddy,” It coos, falsely soothing. It knows, without having to see its reflection, that its eyes have changed to the friendly blue that it favors when drawing prey closer. “I didn’t know that you hungered for blood, too.”

Bill spits, his saliva tinged pink, and it splatters against Its cheek.

It feels almost _charmed_ by the unnatural defiance despite itself.

“I don’t often eat my prey in their entirety,” It says, flicking its tongue out to lap at the blood and saliva, “but you will be worth devouring, piece by piece, until there is nothing left.” It presses its hand firmer against Bill’s throat, and It feels his pulse escalate underneath its gloved fingers.

“You’re dis-disgusting,” Bill rasps, and It grins wide and uncanny before its attention is once again drawn down to Bill’s mouth. He licks his lips—perhaps out of nervousness, perhaps in an effort to fortify himself before he speaks again, Pennywise cares not for the details—and the sight of his pink tongue sliding over the blood that encircles his mouth is alluring in a way that food has never been. “I h-hope that y-you ch-ch-choke on me.” 

It chortles before letting its mouth fall open, feeling its teeth shift and sharpen. Bill stares up as if unwilling to close his eyes in the face of certain death, his eyes drilling angry holes into Its. He’s scared, It can smell the fear on him, but he should be more afraid.

It leans down, ravenous breaths stirring Bill’s fringe, and it extends its tongue to trace the path that Bill’s had taken.

The boy’s eyes go wide, his fear surges, his mouth drops open as he fights to draw in a breath.

Pennywise pushes its tongue inside. Fills up his mouth, chases the taste of its own blood, drinks up the sweet flavor of panicking youth as Bill flounders in his desperate attempts to get free. He bites, but Its tongue is more durable than the flesh of the human guise that it had taken to get close to him, and It presses deeper in retaliation.

The taste if him is… New. Incomparable. It runs its tongue against the blunted teeth, against the soft pink tongue, against the opening of the throat until Bill’s hitched breaths turn into gags.

Then It pulls away, smacking its lips together in contemplation. It releases Bill’s neck and the way that he gasps, the way he tries to stifle a sob, the way an entirely new kind of fear overtakes him, makes something inside of it twinge pleasantly again. 

“Little buddy,” It coos as it forcefully presses two fingers into that plush, warm mouth, pressing down on the tongue and wondering if Bill will attempt to bite again. “I’ve thought of a new game for us to play.” Its tongue extends to lap a sopping wet trail up Bill’s cheek, catching the salty flavor of shed tears. 

It could take a bite out of him, but that almost seems like a waste now that a new idea has sparked.

Now that a new _hunger_ has sparked. 

Bill clamps his teeth down hard.

Pennywise _feels_ a rumble start deep in its chest before either of them hears the purr.

“And by the end of our game perhaps I will not make a feast of you, Billy-boy.” It leans forward, sharp teeth skimming the shell of an ear. Bill jerks, and his jaw goes slack. It presses a third finger into his mouth, relishing the feeling of it, wanting to replace its fingers with its tongue again so that it can bask in the taste. “Perhaps I will keep you all to myself.”

The distress is so palpable, so thick in the air, that it almost shudders at the scent. It breathes deeply, eyes fluttering shut, and it moves even closer into the boy’s personal space, thrilled at the soft, alarmed sound that is slurred by its fingers.

It wants, It wants, It wants—

So It takes, as It always does.

Pennywise has seen humans kiss for as long as it has been feasting upon them but there had been no curiosity—no desire to imitate these lesser creatures—until now.

Bill is soft, and sweet, and trembling. The boy who’d kept his raging eyes open in the face of certain death has screwed them tightly shut at the slightest show of forced intimacy, and Pennywise giggles against his resistant lips before forcing its tongue inside for a final, lingering swipe.

Its hunger for fear and flesh is not gone, but there is a new craving accompanying it now, one that makes something hot unfold inside of it. 

Its going to enjoy this new game.

It scrapes its razor teeth against Bill’s lips before it pulls away again to survey its handiwork. Bill’s mouth is shiny with Its saliva and the remaining blood has been diluted with it, dripping clear pink rivulets down his chin. His lips are puffy and scratched, and his eyes are still screwed shut as he stutters to take a full breath in the same way that he stutters as he tries to speak.

When his eyes flit partially open they are red-rimmed and glossy, which sparks Its predatory instincts, but It resists the urge to dig its teeth into him.

“Y-yuh-you—”

“M-muh-me,” It mocks as it roughly drags one clawed hand through soft red fringe.

Bill’s eyes snap up, sparking with indignation.

Even more pleasing heat blooms underneath Its skin at the sight. 

“I could split open your chest and glut myself on your heart, Billy,” It croons, looming over him and relishing the shivers it can feel travel up his spine. “I could take a bite of you and ensure that you live through it, and then come back for another bite, and another, until there is nothing left of you for anyone to mourn. But!” Its tone brightens, its eyes flash blue, it smiles wide enough to show off its almost-human teeth. “That is not the game I want to play with you anymore.” It brings a hand up to its mouth a drags its tongue against gloved fingers to saturate the fabric, then presses a wet parody of a kiss to them.

It slides those same fingertips from the corner of a red-rimmed eye, down a soft cheek, over a mouth that has been firmly pursed shut. The wet line on Bill’s face shimmers in the dying daylight. 

It chuckles.

“I’ll see you again soon, little buddy.”

Bill’s breath hitches. And then he is alone.

But he won’t be alone for long.


End file.
